


Born of War

by MonJoh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: After beginning the Great Purge, Uther turns his attention to dragons and dragonlords and sets in motion of series of events with far-reaching effects.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful betas [bannedfrompencils](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bannedfrompencils/pseuds/bannedfrompencils) and wryter501.
> 
> Warnings: sexual content at the beginning and graphic descriptions of canon-typical violence later.

Hunith pulled her thin blanket up and watched the reddish-pink square of light from her one window brighten and inch lower down the wooden slats of the western wall. The scratchy wool blanket was a shield between the night air and her bare shoulders; her back was comfortably pressed against the heat of her man’s chest. Outside, she could hear geese and chickens scolding as her fellow villagers made their way to the fields. A dog barked and then whined at a sharp rebuke.

She should be out of bed. She should join the other women in the vegetable plot, there was a pile of raw wool waiting to feed her loom, her skirt needed patching, and she had not even started preparing pottage for their breakfast. But it was cozy under the blankets with Balinor’s arms wrapped around her naked body, his left hand resting on her breast and his right cushioning her head. She pressed back against his bare chest and wriggled her bottom against his groin to see if he was awake. He groaned and his hand began stroking her breast. She smiled and wriggled again.

His lips tasted her neck and she turned her head to give him better access. Their hands began moving urgently, seeking bare skin. He pushed her onto her back so he could take a nipple into his mouth while his fingers fondled her other breast and his free hand moved lower.

“You make it hard to leave this bed,” he mumbled.

In answer she reached down to stroke him, delighted at his moan.

Their lovemaking was not as leisurely as the night before. A full day’s labour was waiting and the other villagers would not look kindly on both of them starting their chores late again. That kind of behaviour would be tolerated in newlyweds, not a couple who had been together for many seasons. Despite their haste, Balinor stroked and kissed until she pulled at his shoulders, silently urging him to enter her.

Afterward, they lay still. Hunith stroked his short, curly hair as his breathing slowed until it was time for them to rise and dress. The cool water in the basin felt good on her warm face. With a few quick twists, she tucked her hair up under a green scarf that would keep the heavy locks off her neck while she worked. The moment she knotted the scarf she felt Balinor’s warm lips on her nape. His arm came around her waist and his hand cupped her breast, stroking through the cotton of her dress.

She leaned back to rest her head on his shoulder. “You make it hard to start my chores.”

He chuckled, his warm breath brushing the back of her neck. “Is Eleynora going to help you spin that wool today?”

Hunith stiffened. She tried to hide her abrupt change of mood but Balinor had noticed.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

“Nothing.”

He turned her to face him. His hands grasped her upper arms as he peered down into her face.

She blinked the sudden moisture from her eyes and ducked her head. “Eleynora announced yesterday that she’s with child again.”

“Oh, Hunith.” He hugged her tightly, his bristly chin rubbing against her ear. “Don’t worry. It hasn’t been that long. We’ll have a child yet, I know we will.”

She pressed her face into his shoulder. “It’s been four winters and not once has my womb quickened. The other women have given me all the advice they can. Most of them have given up on me.”

“Well I haven’t given up. In fact, I’m willing to try again right now if you want.”

She smiled in spite of the aching hollow in her chest that yearned for a babe. “I appreciate your dedication but I’ve kept you long enough.” She leaned back in his arms to look up into his face and laid one hand on his bristly cheek. “I’m fine, I promise. You go on and get your work done and let me get started on mine.”

She forced a reassuring smile onto her face. He tucked a lock of dark hair under her headscarf before he bent to kiss her. Then with a final hug he left the tiny shack. The curtain that sheltered the doorway fluttered behind him, letting in the smell of animals along with the sounds of the men shouting to each other, women chastising children, chickens squawking, geese honking, and dogs barking.

For all his nonchalance, she knew Balinor wanted a child even more than she did. Many men wanted a son to help with men’s work, to teach and instruct, to carry on when they were gone – but with dragonlords it was something even more. She barely understood what she saw when they gathered together: it was a kinship, a sacred trust, a shared identity that no one else could truly comprehend. Nearly every dragonlord as far as anyone could recall was male and almost always a dragonlord’s first child was a boy. The yearning in Balinor’s eyes when he watched others of the village men with their sons nearly made her suggest that he find another woman, but she was too selfish for that. Balinor was hers. She could not live without him in her life. They would simply have to keep trying and praying.

She swiped a hand across her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and went to work.

~

Hunith gave the pot over the fire another stir before she fetched a loaf of the crusty black bread she had baked earlier. Then she dipped two mugs of water from one of the pails she had filled at the well that morning and carried both wooden cups to the two men seated on a single bench beside the hearth. Balinor smiled at her as he took one cup and she offered the other to his companion.

Ragnar had arrived shortly before sundown, traipsing into the village on foot, his thin cloak coated in dust and his boots caked with mud. Balinor had greeted him with a one-armed hug when he returned from the field, then they had fallen into earnest conversation. Ragnar had glanced around the curious faces of the other villagers and suggested they continue their discussion in Hunith’s hut.

She added carrots to the potato stew already simmering and opened a jar of stewed apples, thankful she had baked bread earlier. A few locks of dark hair escaped from her scarf and she used her forearm to swipe the sweat-sticky strands away from her face.

“Myrxtia hasn’t come though I’ve been calling her for over a week now.” Ragnar’s tanned brow was wrinkled in worry under his fringe of dark blond hair.

“I can ask Kilgharrah if he’s seen the green dragon recently,” Balinor offered.

“Are you certain you can contact him? Gvaarin has been missing for months now and since Bsollaf’s body was discovered we know the dragons are in danger.”

“Bsollaf was nearly eight hundred years old, ancient even for a dragon. He may simply have perished of old age.”

Ragnar shook his head. “No dragon who died naturally has ever been seen again. In this case, the body was rotting at the mouth of that cave.”

“What do you believe happened, then?”

The other man’s face paled beneath his tan and his brown eyes darted around the room. He lowered his voice. “Uther Pendragon.”

Hunith’s gut churned at mention of Camelot’s king who was quickly becoming the most feared man in the Five Kingdoms.

Balinor sat back. “Uther’s purge is directed at sorcerers who engage in black magic, like the one he blames for his queen’s death. He has no quarrel with dragons.”

Ragnar sighed deeply. “You are always determined to see goodness in people. Even you must know by now that this purge is aimed at magic of all kinds, no matter who uses it or why.”

A thick wooden ladle slipped from Hunith’s fingers and its handle sank into the bubbling stew. “It’s true, then?”

Both men turned to look at her.

Her hand trembled and she clenched her fist on a handful of her skirt. She frowned when Balinor refused to meet her eyes.

“Galbraith was burned at the stake twelve nights ago and Gwenillyn with him,” Ragnar said slowly. “For the sole crime of possessing magic.”

Hunith gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. “What of their children?”

“I helped smuggle them to safety but the eldest boy insisted on going back to Camelot’s citadel to retrieve his parents’ bones.” Ragnar hesitated then and glanced at Balinor who shrugged in response.

“You might as well tell her.”

“He was thrown into Camelot’s dungeon.”

Hunith clenched her jaw tightly. “But the boy has no magic.”

“His parents did and he had not exposed them. That’s all it takes anymore.” Ragnar pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Would that I could convince Melisandre to leave Braithcliffe, or at least move to a village further from the city.”

“You are welcome to stay with us, you know,” Hunith said. “You and anyone else that needs to escape.”

He shook his head without raising it. “My wife refuses to leave Camelot. It’s where she was born, where her mother was born, where her grandmother was born. She has never been further from home than the lower town of Uther’s citadel. Her entire family lives within one league of Braithcliffe and she insists she needs them near, especially now, so close to her time. You wouldn’t understand, being that you don’t have children.”

For one painful instant Hunith’s heart ceased to beat. Balinor’s brows snapped together as his face turned red.

Ragnar’s hands dropped and he stared up at her. “Hunith, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean …”

The red faded slightly from Balinor’s face but she laid a hand on his shoulder anyway. He was so rarely angry that his protective instinct had momentarily shocked her even in her pain.

“It’s all right,” she said.

“No, it isn’t.” Ragnar was still staring at her, eyes huge in his pale face. “That was insensitive. I’ve just been so worried.” His gaze switched to Balinor, pleading for understanding. “It’s our first child and you know it’ll be a boy.”

Beneath her hand, Balinor’s shoulder muscles relaxed.

“Are you that worried for your safety?” Hunith asked.

Miserably, Ragnar nodded.

“I know most of those in Camelot with magic renounced it or left when the purge began, but it’s remained safe in the villages,” Balinor said.

“It’s no longer safe anywhere in the kingdom. Soldiers make midnight raids, neighbours are afraid to speak to neighbours, even family members have turned on each other.” Ragnar met Balinor’s eyes. “Perhaps it is time to get involved.”

Balinor shook his head. “Dragonlords do not take part in wars. We cannot choose sides, not in this, not in any fight, ever.” The destructive power of dragons was as awesome as their power to heal. It could not be unleashed no matter who believed their side was “right.” Too many would die.

“Perhaps this time we need to step in. Uther has murdered so many it has been named the Great Purge – not that there is anything great about this slaughter.”

“And many more would die if the dragons were to attack. Uther’s soldiers have families and lives just as do any of us, as do the citizens that would be caught in the fighting.” Balinor leaned forward to lay one hand on Ragnar’s forearm. “We cannot allow fear or anger to rule us. Remember what happened to Daobeth. Those dragonlords thought they were right, too. Now the ruined castle is a monument to the thousands of lives ripped apart by the death and destruction the dragons wrought there.”

“You’re right.” Ragnar gripped his elbow in return. “But you were in Camelot just weeks ago. You’ve seen what it’s like. You know what would happen to you if you used magic in the city.”

Hunith put both hands on her hips and stared at Balinor. “You knew,” she said. “You knew things had gone from bad to worse.”

He flushed under her stare.

She faced Ragnar. “How much danger is he in?”

“I advise you both to stay here and not cross the border into Camelot for any reason.”

“Which I have no intention of doing so you can cease worrying,” Balinor said. At Hunith’s frown he put on his most endearing smile which made his eyes crinkle. “Now how about we taste that delicious-smelling stew?”

Hunith looked from one of them to the other, not convinced they had told her everything, but entranced by Balinor’s smile despite her worry. “Just so long as you have no intention of venturing into Camelot.”

“None at all,” he said.

~

Eleynora deftly wrapped a long, grey strand of fleece around her carding board. “What did the message say?”

Hunith smiled though she could not prevent a stab of envy as her eyes fell on Eleynora’s slightly rounded stomach.

“Ragnar and Melisandre’s child was a boy.” The message was the one bit of joy in a steady stream of bad news.

Refugees from Camelot had begun crossing the border into Essetir daily, bringing with them tales of raids by soldiers and rampant accusations of sorcery that made it difficult to travel. Strangers were not welcome anywhere. Most of the refugees fled in groups and even so they walked night and day without attempting to barter for food along the way. It was safer to keep moving and keep to themselves. By the time they passed into Ealdor, many were footsore, exhausted to the point of collapse, and near starving. Hunith and her fellow villagers tended to the first groups but as the weeks dragged on there was less and less to spare.

The sound of horses made both women exchange a puzzled glance. What visitors wealthy enough to afford mounts would be passing through Ealdor? If it were bandits there would have been shouting but instead there were no sounds of human communication at all. Hunith set down her carding board and walked to the doorway.

Chickens and geese protested and flapped as they parted for a column of soldiers bearing a standard with a coiled serpent on a grey field. The dust stirred up by the horses’ hooves caused Hunith to blink and cough and she stepped back again.

“Soldiers,” she said to Eleynora. “Heading toward the border.”

“Ah.” The other woman returned to her task. “Good thing you received your friend’s message. If our king has decided to turn away Camelot’s refugees , I fear the flow of news will likewise dwindle.”

She was right, the number of travelers crossing into Essetir became fewer and fewer and it grew harder to learn anything of what was happening in their neighbouring kingdom. Until dragons attacked Camelot – the first time anyone could remember a dragon attacking a human settlement since the fall of Daobeth generations ago – and then people spoke of little else.

~

 “No!” Hunith grabbed the pack from Balinor’s hands and upended it, dumping clothing and food onto the floor of the hut.

He ignored the mess and put both hands on her shoulders. “I promise everything will be all right. I’ll be back safely.”

She dropped the pack on top of the pile and covered her face in her hands. “It won’t be all right. This is madness.” She gripped his tunic in her fists, no longer hiding the tears in her eyes. “Don’t go.”

“Oh, Hunith.” He pulled her close and rubbed one hand up and down her back.

She knew she was being a shrew. He was entitled to do what he believed to be right – it was one of the many things she loved about him – and misery choked her at making him feel guilty about it. But her apology stuck in her throat.

More tears welled up. She hated women who used tears to make men do what they wanted yet the more she tried to stop them the harder she cried. She pressed her face into the scratchy wool of his tunic. “Don’t go.”

He was still rubbing her back tenderly. “Listen to me. King Uther has offered to make peace. He regrets what his grief has wrought on the Five Kingdoms and he wants to prove that to Kilgharrah. You can understand how the loss of his wife drove him to commit horrible things, can’t you?”

She nodded. The rough wool scraped the moisture from her right cheek.

“We all do things when we are angry or grieving that we regret later.” He leaned back and took her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed the wetness from the corners of her eyes. “King Uther would be a fool to continue this war now that the dragons have set themselves against him.”

“Perhaps he is a fool.” She sniffed.

“Uther Pendragon is anything but foolish,” Balinor said. His fingers tucked loose strands of her hair back under the green headscarf. “I promise I will come back to you, no matter what.”

She shivered at the intensity in his gaze. Then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed. “I’m sorry I made such a fuss,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Quickly, she stepped back and dropped to her knees to gather up everything she had scattered. Her hands shook only slightly. Together, they folded and repacked the sack.

They shared a long kiss before he said his final farewell and pushed aside the cloth hanging across the doorway. Then he was gone.

Why had she behaved like that? It wasn’t like her to be so possessive or so irrational. It was as if she heard her future heartbroken cries begging her not to let him go. She clenched her fingers tightly across her empty belly. If only they had had children, she would have someone to live for besides Balinor.

~

“ _O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes_!” Balinor waited in the thigh-high grass of the field, one hand shading his eyes from the sun overhead.

In moments, the yellow grass bent double and a cloud of grasshoppers scattered from the mini-windstorm. The ground trembled beneath his feet when Kilgharrah landed on all fours and folded back his immense leathery wings.

“I’ve been calling you every day for three days.”

Kilgharrah’s huge head bobbed in the air. “It is not my fault your power cannot reach far.” The long neck bent closer to the ground causing the tall grass to curl in the dragon’s hot breath. “You risk much entering Uther’s kingdom.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take in order to avoid further bloodshed.”

Large yellow eyes blinked.

“I know about your nightly assaults on the citadel and I have come to make peace between King Uther and the dragons.”

The horned head lifted into the air so that Balinor had to crane his neck to look upward.

“Have you now,” Kilgharrah said softly.

“Yes.”

“But there are no more dragons, only me.” The deep voice was a gentle rumble.

Balinor passed a hand across his face. Kilgharrah had been the largest and oldest of the dragons. Had he Seen that he would be the last?

“Even Myrxtia?”

The massive head nodded.

“But she only hatched last year.”

“An easy target for Uther’s butchers.”

The idea that a dragon no matter how young was an easy target was laughable but Balinor felt no humour. He pushed aside the urge for retribution that clawed at his heart and straightened his shoulders. “I am told that Uther deeply regrets the pain he has caused many these past couple of years. The destruction you have inflicted on his citadel has made him see that he has endangered his people with his war on magic. He was grieving, though that does not excuse his actions, but he wishes to end the hostilities now.”

The yellow eyes blinked again. “I see.”

Again Balinor wondered what the ancient dragon had Seen of the future. Not that the future was set in stone; it was always in motion, difficult to interpret even for an experienced Seer.

The thick head cocked on the dragon’s long neck. “What makes you think this offer is genuine?”

“Ragnar called all the dragonlords to meet with him so that we can face Uther together. Ragnar fears and distrusts Uther more than anyone; if he has sent for us it must be safe.”

Once more, the head bent low so that tall grass brushed against the dragon’s massive jaw. “Are you certain you know who you can trust?”

A few blades of dry, yellow grass smoked from the heat of the creature’s breath.

“I have to try,” Balinor said. “Too many have died or seen their loved ones dying or imprisoned. This madness must end. You will cease your attacks on Uther’s citadel while we negotiate peace.”

“Yes,” Kilgharrah said. The yellow eyes blinked.

~

“Balinor.” Ragnar’s face had lost much of its tan, paler now than his dirty blond hair.

They exchanged a one-armed hug before the other man stepped back quickly and glanced around the darkened clearing. Tall trees ringed an open space, though not much else was visible in the twilight. Frogs chirped in a boggy spot closer to the stream Balinor had followed to this meeting place. A fox darted across the edge of the clearing, briefly outlined by the last bit of light.

Ragnar flinched at the movement, his eyes darting around the treeline. He tightened his cloak and pulled up its hood. “Where is Kilgharrah?”

“I said I would call once I located you.”

Ragnar’s head nodded beneath the enveloping hood. “Good.”

“Where are the others?” Balinor had expected his fellow dragonlords to meet him here. A few he had not seen in years and it would be good to lay eyes on their faces despite the strained circumstances.

“Malacant and Ceynard are waiting in town.  Dinadan won’t arrive until tomorrow.” Ragnar clutched his cloak tighter, his knuckles white.

Balinor frowned. “Is something wrong, my friend?”

A dry chuckle cut the evening air. “I’m sorry to be so on edge.”

“I completely understand.” Since he crossed the border into Uther’s kingdom Balinor had found himself looking over his shoulder at every little noise. “How are Melisandre and the baby?”

Ragnar’s brown eyes looked so bleak that for a moment Balinor thought tragedy had befallen mother or child.

“They’re both well. Listen, Uther has requested that the Great Dragon submit to certain precautions for this meeting.”

“Ah.” The reason for his friend’s nervousness was abruptly clear. Though Ragnar was also a dragonlord, he had always been hesitant in the presence of the largest dragon, preferring to spend his time with hatchlings and yearlings. He would hate to face Kilgharrah’s displeasure at whatever restrictions Uther had suggested.

“Don’t worry, my friend.” Balinor patted the other man’s back. “Whatever it is, I’ll make certain Kilgharrah submits graciously.” For all the dragon’s imposing bulk, he really was not hard to deal with.

~

“What of the Court Physician, Gaius?” asked freckle-faced Timion.

In the hearth, a log broke causing two others to shift. Flames climbed higher as the logs collapsed and Timion shifted closer to the warmth.

 “Don’t trust him. He’s firmly in Uther’s pocket.” Malacant rocked back in his chair, propped it on two legs, and continued to whittle a chunk of wood as large as his fist.

Balinor watched him work, envying the skill and patience in Malacant’s hands as a tiny figure began to take shape. “But they say Gaius has magic himself.”

“He gave it up for the king. Now he only practices healing the way the other leeches do.”

“I’ve never seen him use leeches,” Bors said. “He relies on his potions, brewed without magic, and effective at times.”

“At times. Have you tasted one of his remedies? I’d rather be ill.” Malacant spat on the floor.

Timion frowned. “Do you truly believe he would betray his own kind to Uther?”

“No, he doesn’t have the guts. But don’t trust him to lend a hand. He’s perfectly willing to stand aside and allow the most horrendous travesties without lifting a finger against his king and patron,” Malacant said.

“That’s not entirely true,” Ceynard said. His freckles were darker than his son’s though there were fewer of them. “His woman was a healer, far more powerful than he ever was, yet she slipped out of Camelot before the butchers could come for her. There’s only one person who could have warned her and got her out before Uther executed her.”

“Yet he didn’t go with her.” Malacant’s eyes flashed gold and a cup filled itself with mead and delivered itself to his hand. “No profit in being a fugitive. Being Court Physician is a lucrative position; no land, but a cozy spot within the citadel and food from the king’s own table.”

Balinor hoped the physician was not as callous or mercenary as Malacant painted him. He recalled the distinguished man he had seen earlier in Camelot’s busy marketplace, his brown hair elegantly streaked with grey at each temple and long enough to brush the collar of an embroidered blue robe. The older man had had a golden-haired toddler by the hand. When the little boy stumbled and skinned his palm on a stone, the physician had swept him up and carried him on his shoulders. The toddler giggled and bounced excitedly, his hurt hand entirely forgotten.

Surely a man so caring of a little boy could not be entirely self-serving? If his only concern was to shield the prince from harm it would not require carrying the little one or making him laugh.

The wooden door opened to let two cloaked figures into the room along with a rush of cold air that made the candle flames flicker.

“Dinadan.” Balinor leapt up to give one of the men a welcoming hug. “It’s been a long time, my friend.”

“Too long,” the other agreed as he stepped back and shed his heavy woolen cloak.

Ragnar took off his cloak as well before he gestured the newest arrival to take a seat on one of the overturned barrels nearest the hearth.

“We’re all here now.” Balinor let his gaze wander around the room. It had been years since they had all been together, and the warmth that infused his chest surprised him. It was a feeling like coming home, though he had never been to this room in Camelot before.

He looked forward to the evening more than he had imagined possible. They would share many cups tonight and break bread together while they talked of dragons and sons and the coming peace. Even the empty hole in his life which should have been filled with his own son shrunk at being among his kin once more.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Ragnar led the other dragonlords through the citadel’s corridors for their meeting with King Uther. A man wearing a robe of Camelot red embroidered with sigils and carrying a medicine bag gave them a friendly nod as he passed them in the hallway. At the back of the group, Balinor paused when he recognized the grey-streaked brown hair of the physician.

He reached out a hand to Gaius. “Could I speak with you?”

One thick brown eyebrow raised to the elder’s hairline but he halted in the corridor. “Of course.”

Balinor glanced at the group which had walked on without him and lowered his voice. “In private?”

The other brow went up but the physician nodded and gestured toward an alcove. When they were both out of sight of anyone in the corridor, he also lowered his voice. “What can I help you with?”

Now that the moment was at hand, Balinor hesitated. The physician folded his hands in front of his long robe as if he was accustomed to waiting for coherent explanations of frightening or embarrassing symptoms.

Balinor took in a breath. “My woman and I have been together for some years now and not once has her womb quickened.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “A common enough problem.”

The dragonlord wondered if that was a veiled reference to the rumours of Queen Ygraine’s difficulty in conceiving.

“I must ask firstly if the problem is with yourself or the woman.”

“How would I know?”

The elder man’s head tipped and one brow went up again. “Have either of you conceived or suspected a possible child with anyone else?”

Balinor felt his cheeks warm. “I have never … not with anyone else. And she …”

The physician gave him a reassuring smile. “I understand. That makes it more difficult to diagnose, but there are a number of things you can try to increase the chances of a child.”

Before Gaius could continue, an enraged shout echoed through the corridor. He paled and put a hand on Balinor’s shoulder before the dragonlord could rush forward. “Wait here.”

“But …”

The kindly brown eyes were suddenly piercing. “Wait.”

The physician disappeared from sight as soon as he left the alcove headed in the direction Ragnar and the others had gone moments ago. Balinor stood uncertainly, confused as to why the older man had told him to stay here, uncertain what the commotion was, and wondering what he should do.

Just when he decided to see for himself what was going on, the physician was back. The man grabbed his arm with a surprisingly strong grip given his age.

“This way. Now.” He moved quickly down the corridor in the direction he had been heading when the group of dragonlords passed him.

“But I have to check on my friends.” Balinor pointed the opposite way.

A strange expression passed over the elder’s face then: part regret, part guilt, part sadness. “Later. You must hurry.”

Balinor wondered why he should listen to Gaius, a man he barely knew, rather than rush to the side of his kin. Then he was following the physician, matching his purposeful stride.

They were not running, but it was not the leisurely pace suited to a man wearing a long red robe. Gaius nodded calmly at the few servants that passed them in the hall, then, when no one else was in sight, ducked into an unused chamber and closed the door behind them.

“This way.”

The elder moved even more quickly now and Balinor found himself hurrying to keep up with the physician. They went out the servant’s entrance to the chamber, through branching corridors, and up several flights of narrow steps.

They halted at the top of a cramped, curving stairway. Gaius opened the door to a room full of empty crates and gestured him in, but Balinor put his hands on both hips.

“Not until you tell me what is going on.”

Gaius sighed, suddenly appearing much older. “My worst fears.” His head bowed. Then he straightened and met Balinor’s eyes. “Uther does not want peace with the dragonlords. His vendetta against Nimueh and those guilty of practising dark magic has warped into a hatred of sorcery itself. He must have decided that as kin to dragons, creatures of magic, all dragonlords are also to be feared and hated.”

Icy dread crawled up Balinor’s spine, followed quickly by a hot flush of anger. “What of my friends, my kin?”

“I saw the palace guards arrest them.”

“I have to help them.”

Gaius shook his head. Balinor was about to push past the older man when he laid a hand on Balinor’s arm again and pinned him with a look.

“You cannot help them from the executioner’s block.”

Balinor felt as if a bottomless pit had opened beneath his feet. “The king cannot mean to kill them.” Regret and sadness in Gaius’s expression was all the answer he needed. “What of Kilgharrah? Is he in danger as well?”

Guilt squeezed the breath from his lungs. He had been the one to command the dragon to submit to Uther’s precautions. The dragon was not helpless, but nor was he entirely free to defend himself. There was no longer any doubt that Uther was responsible for the death and disappearance of the other living dragons. But Balinor would have heard it – felt it – if Kilgharrah had been killed.

“The Great Dragon is still alive. I have seen him in that cave beneath the citadel and I believe Uther will keep him there. There can be no other reason for the chain.”

The intricacy of Uther’s plan was astounding. Destroy the dragons one by one while ensuring none were the wiser; when the last one fought back, trick the dragonlords into forcing Kilgharrah to submit; then murder the dragonlords. How Ragnar had not seen through it was the only unanswered question. The man had been suspicious of Uther long before the rest of them, yet he …

The pit opened wider and Balinor felt as if he had fallen down a deep, dark well. “Ragnar led us into a trap.”

Gaius hesitated. “He was arrested with the others.”

Balinor wavered. Was he now seeing enemies where there were none? He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “I have to do something. I have to free Kilgharrah, and my kin.”

“You cannot undo the dragon’s chain on your own.”

“Then I need to free the other dragonlords first.”

“Your friends will be taken to the dungeon. Your only hope of rescuing them is during the night when fewer guards are on watch. Even then, you have slim chance of getting to them. King Uther has much experience now in imprisoning and executing sorcerers.”

“I can rescue them.” Balinor looked the elder in the face. Gaius had aided him, but it had not been planned. It seemed he had suspected the plot yet done nothing to stop it. What side was he really on? “Will you help me?”

The physician’s expression of sadness deepened. “The king trusts me, but he is also aware of my previous pursuits. Because of that there are certain restrictions on me, which I do not intend to break.”

Fury coiled in Balinor’s gut. “Why are you so loyal to this butcher king?”

“Because he is my king.” The brown eyes were calm despite the sadness. “And because the little prince needs me.”

The round, laughing face of the blue-eyed, tow-headed boy had been so carefree. But innocent little boys grew into hardened men. “That child is cursed. Growing up with a murderer for a father in this court of sycophants who refuse to lift a finger – the boy has no chance.”

“I have to believe our children will do better than we have.”

“You and I have no children.”

“Then we’ll have to care for the ones the gods place in our hands. In my case, that means caring for the little prince and seeing to it that some of his knowledge of magic comes from a source other than his father.”

“Well, the Pendragon’s boy is no concern of mine. I will free my kin or die in the attempt.”

Gaius sighed. He closed his eyes briefly, then focused his gaze on Balinor. “I can prepare a sleeping remedy, enough to dose the guards at the entrance to the lower dungeons. That will make it easier for you to get to your friends. A passage leads from the dungeon to the cave where Kilgharrah is chained. How many of you will it take to break the enchantment?”

Balinor frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“One of the dragonlords was wounded during their arrest.”

Balinor massaged his temples. One of his kin was hurt. That would make escape more difficult but they would leave no one behind, injured or no. Hopefully the wounded man was not Malacant. Without his strength, it would be harder to free the dragon even with all six of the rest working together.

“Thank you, Gaius.”

“You’re welcome, …?” The physician waited.

“Balinor.”

“Balinor. It's unlikely they will search this tower. They'll be looking for you to escape Camelot or rush immediately to your friends. Stay here until nightfall. Then make your way to the dungeons, free your fellows, and find the dragon. He is in the lower levels. How close does the Great Dragon have to be before he can guide you to his prison?”

Balinor was only briefly surprised the former sorcerer would know about mind-to-mind communication. It was rare even among those with magic, though common among the Druids. “Are the dungeons stone or mostly earth?”

“The cave is natural, but the citadel is built of hewn stone.”

“I’ll be able to hear him once I’m within the lower levels, then.”

The physician nodded and turned to go.

“Gaius.” He waited until the elder man looked at him questioningly. “If anything goes wrong, if anything happens to me, please get a message to my woman. Her name is Hunith and she lives in Ealdor. It’s a tiny village in Essetir, near the border with Camelot.”

“Hunith, Ealdor,” Gaius repeated. “I will do so.”

Balinor waited until the physician disappeared down the steps, then ducked into the empty room leaving the door open behind him. He needed to hear anyone approaching and a closed door may be suspicious. He shuffled a couple of the crates around so he could hide behind them if necessary but be able to duck in either direction toward the door.

He hoped he had not made a mistake entrusting Gaius with Hunith’s name. As grateful as he was for help in retaining his freedom, part of him argued that the Court Physician could have done more to prevent this from happening, to prevent so much from happening. He had access to the king’s medicines. It would have been easy for him to taint a vial. Balinor dug his hands into the hair at his temples and pulled. Gods, was he actually considering murder justifiable? Dragonlords did not take sides in war.

He glanced up at the two narrow openings in the outer wall. Midmorning. It would be a long wait until nightfall. Alert for any sounds in the stairwell, he circled the room and searched its contents. No food, no water. No signs of life, not even mice. He sat on an upturned barrel and put his head in his hands. How could he have been so foolish? Why had Kilgharrah not warned him about Uther’s treachery? Had Ragnar betrayed them when he brought them all to Camelot or had he fallen for Uther’s ploy like the rest of them?

The noises of people moving about and talking drifted through the windows along with the stink of the city. He should never have left Ealdor where there were honest smells of chickens and pigs and mud instead of this sinkhole of sweaty bodies and horses. He should have heeded Hunith’s warning.

The noises outside grew louder. There were a few cheers, a few angry shouts, and a muttering like a crowd of people, their conversations mingling into an incoherent noise. These were interspersed with heavy thunks like an axe chopping wood though the sound was dulled, not sharp and ringing.

There were still no sounds in the corridor outside Balinor’s little room, so he pushed a barrel directly below one of the slits and raised himself high enough for his chin to rest on the stone. The wall was too thick to see anything except another turret across from him and stringy grey clouds in the blue sky.

~

The number of soldiers and guards surprised Ragnar, but then, the king would not take chances against seven of them. Or six, not counting himself. Malacant lay on the ground, choking on the blood welling up in his throat, a quarrel through his back.

It was only after the soldiers had taken the rest of them prisoner that the others looked at Ragnar in shock and horror as realization dawned that the Camelot guards had known exactly who to target first. There was only one way they could have known who had the strongest magic. The traitor was not hard to identify once they realized he had not assisted in their efforts to defend themselves against the guards.

 _I’m sorry_ , Ragnar whispered to their minds. He did not ask or expect forgiveness. The depth of this betrayal was too deep. _My little boy is only six months old. Uther promised to spare him._

Anger, pity, and despair came at him in waves so that he nearly reeled. Still, he made no effort to resist when guards wearing helmets that concealed their hair and noses bound his hands behind him along with the others.

“Weren’t there seven of you?” a knight in a red cloak asked.

Ragnar lifted his eyes from the floor and glanced around. “Yes,” he muttered. Where was Balinor?

The knight snapped orders and one of the guards rushed out, shouting an alert to his fellows. The knight gestured at the five dragonlords, bound and at swordpoint, surrounded by guards with crossbows at the ready. Ragnar stepped forward. A guard pointed with his spear and Ragnar moved in that direction. From the corner of his eye, he saw Malacant’s body dragged along behind.

Ragnar could feel the stares of the other dragonlords burning into his back as they were marched directly to the courtyard but none spoke to him either silently or aloud. A crowd quickly gathered around the wooden platform that stood in readiness these days, a thick stump in the middle with its top splintered. Ragnar breathed an inner sigh of relief when he was led to the block first as promised. He would not have to watch his kin being slaughtered.

~

Balinor paced the length of the storage room – five steps across – and back again. Five steps, turn, five steps, turn. He started toward the open chamber door, then turned away. He looked at the rectangle of grey cloud beyond the window slit.

The noises had faded but a lump of bile sat heavily in his gut. If he had eaten recently, it would be lost by now. He hoped he was wrong about what he had heard. He wanted to see for himself, he wanted to ask someone, but it was still daylight. He could not leave yet.

Finally he turned his steps toward the door again. He was not going to wait here any longer; whatever had happened or was going to happen he would not face it in ignorance.

Footsteps sounded in the stairwell. Balinor ducked behind his wall of crates and held his breath.

“Balinor?” It was the physician’s voice.

Balinor hesitated, remembering last night’s talk, wondering suddenly if Gaius was the one who had betrayed them. But if so, why hide him? Balinor stood.

Relief showed on the elder man’s face. “You have to leave now.”

Fear burned its way up Balinor’s throat. “What of nightfall? My kin? The dragon?”

Gaius shook his head, his face nearly as pale as the white streaks in his brown hair.

Balinor staggered and put a hand on the nearest barrel to brace himself. “Are they …?”

“All dead,” Gaius said softly. “Before I even reached the courtyard below.”

“Kilgharrah?”

“As far as I can ascertain, chained below the dungeons.”

With a chain forged by seven dragonlords that could never be broken now. Balinor’s empty stomach roiled. He swallowed the bile.

“I need to get out of here. I need to find their sons and get them to safety.”

“Yes.” The physician sounded tired but determined. “I’ll lead you outside the city wall into the lower town. Take off your coat and wear this.” He set aside his medicine satchel. Under his red robe was a black tunic. Quickly, he pulled it over his head and tossed it to Balinor, then donned the embroidered robe again.

Balinor shrugged out of his cloak and pulled the black woolen tunic over his head. It was tight across the shoulders and draped too long at his wrists, but with a rope belt Gaius pulled from his medicine bag it passed as his own clothes.

“Take this, too.” Gaius handed over a leather bag that smelled like bread and sausage. “And this.”

Balinor regarded a silver-and-ruby necklace with surprise. The silver links alone were worth a prince’s ransom and the interwoven red stones as much again. Incongruously, instead of a similarly valuable pendant, a flat, circular piece of metal stamped with a sigil hung from the necklace. It resembled a coin but not from any realm he was familiar with. “This is a valuable necklace.”

“And a powerful one.”

The circle of metal vibrated with magic so strong its scent permeated the air like perfume.

“What am I to do with it?”

Gaius’s nose wrinkled. “Get rid of it.”

“What?” Balinor stared at him in shock.

“Get rid of it. It’s caused enough trouble and it has the power to cause yet more pain and anguish if Uther gets his hands on it.”

The rumours came back to Balinor of a queen who could not conceive and a prince born of magic. “Is this …”

“Yes. It’s what Nimueh gave to Ygraine to ensure she conceived and bore a son.”

Sunlight from the room’s small window caught and twisted in the red jewels. Despite its beauty, Balinor’s gut clenched looking at the piece of dark magic. He understood the longing for a child, an heir, he truly did, but to use sorcery to fulfill such a wish was dangerous; it played with life and death. The queen must have been truly desperate to turn to sorcery. It made no difference whether the request for help in conceiving was made out of love or selfishness, or whether the sorceress granted the king’s wish out of friendship or ambition. The results had been catastrophic. To use such an item was too perilous to ever be justified.

“I removed it from Queen Ygraine’s neck when she died in childbirth and hid it. Uther has been searching for it since. If he gets his hands on it, he will attempt to destroy it and I fear the results of that attempt.”

“Why?”

“This pendant has been imbued with the power of life and death, fertility and barrenness. Releasing that kind of dark magic in fury and violence … I do not really know what would happen but it cannot be good.”

“Why not return it to the sorceress? She conjured it, let her destroy it.”

“Even if I could contact Nimueh, I would not want it to fall into her hands any more than Uther’s. The feud between them rages beyond control. I fear what she would do with it deliberately out of spite as much as what Uther would unleash unknowingly in his anger and fear.”

“Can’t she simply make another?”

Gaius shuddered. “I hope not. If so, I cannot stop her. But I can ensure this necklace leaves Camelot, never to return. Promise you will drop it down a well or into a lake so deep no hand will touch it again.”

“I will.” Balinor tucked the chain and its odd pendant into the side of his boot, using his sock to cushion his ankle from the sharp edges of the jewels. It felt warm but it repulsed him as if the curse it had unleashed on this land was coiled inside waiting to strike again.

“Thank you.” Gaius slung his satchel over one shoulder. “Now, stay close, keep your head down, and do not speak to anyone. I’m often called to visit patients beyond the citadel and I don’t expect the guards to question me or anyone with me.”

“Uther trusts you.” Balinor winced at the accusatory note in his tone when the physician was his only hope of escape.

“To a point, and yes, I have earned it. Do not presume to judge me, young man. You were not in my shoes.”

Chastened at the cold bite in the man’s voice, Balinor nodded and swallowed any further questions.

“Then let’s go.” Gaius strode out of the room and down the stairs without a backwards glance.

The dragonlord hurried to keep up with the physician’s purposeful stride, keeping his head down as instructed. Though Balinor’s breath caught in his throat every time they encountered one of the helmeted guards or he heard a sword rattle in a knight’s scabbard, no one challenged the Court Physician or the man in a roughspun black woolen tunic at his heels.

They emerged from the citadel’s cool, stone corridors into dim sunlight under an overcast sky. Balinor’s stomach turned when he realized they had walked out the main doors into the courtyard. He averted his gaze from the wooden platform in the centre and held his breath to avoid the smell of blood. His hands fisted so tightly his nails cut into his palms and his jaw hardened. Then they were through the tall archway and the smells of manure, warm bodies, and pastries from a nearby market stall replaced the stink of death.

Once they were past the market, through the city wall, and into the lower town, Balinor drew his first deep breath since he had left his hiding spot. Gaius turned into a modest hut beside a blacksmith’s shop. Seated on a wooden chair beside the room’s single table was a little girl with tight dark ringlets holding a baby and cooing at it.

“Where’s Tom?” Gaius asked.

The girl looked up, her arms still rocking the infant. “At the forge. Do you want me to fetch him?”

“No, that’s fine. You take care of Elyan. He’s only just got over the croup and the smoke in the forge will make it worse, and I know how he’ll scream if you set him down. We’ll find our way.”

She nodded and went back to cooing at the baby.

Gaius led the way out another door, but instead of heading to the forge he paused in the cramped area between the shack and its neighbour. “This is as far as I can take you. Wait here until the market stalls close and large groups of people head back to the villages and farms, then join them. Tom can aid you if you need, so feel free to go into the forge and ask him for help, but I trust you won’t put him or his family in unnecessary danger. Do you have a place to go that’s near enough to keep you off the roads after nightfall?”

“Braithcliffe is not far. Ragnar’s wife and child are there.”

The eyes narrowed. “Ragnar is the one who –”

“Betrayed us.” So it was true. “I guessed that, but his son is still in the cradle. He’ll need a guardian who can teach him about the gift he has inherited far too young and I won’t hold his father’s actions against him.”

“Good luck, then.”

Gaius was about to go when Balinor pulled him into a hug.

“I do thank you. I apologize for what I said earlier. You’re right, I have no idea what I would do in your shoes.”

The older man’s face reddened. “I’m sorry I could not help the others. If there’s ever anything more I can do, you can get in touch with me here.”

Balinor nodded. Then Gaius returned to the shack and the dragonlord leaned against the rough wood of the forge’s outer wall, fighting down the renewed pain in his chest for his slain kin. He slumped to the ground and sat in the dirt, his arms resting on his knees and his head hung down. Finally, he opened the bag of food, broke off a hunk of bread, and forced himself to eat.

When a particularly noisy group passed by in the street, he stuck his head around the corner. A woman wearing a dress of undyed wool, her lanky brown hair tied back with a scrap of dirty cotton, trudged along beside three young children. She pushed a cart piled with scraps of cloth and the eldest child carried a sack nearly as large as he was. The littlest girl, barely old enough to walk, had tears running down her face and favoured her left foot. None of them wore shoes.

Balinor stepped out. “I can push the cart, or carry the little one if you’d rather.”

The woman’s head came up, eyes wide in her narrow face. Her mouth dropped open, then she ducked her head. “Thank you, but I could not repay you.”

He smiled his most ingratiating smile, the one he used when Hunith was genuinely angry with him. “It’s no trouble. I have little to carry myself.” He held up the leather bag of food Gaius had given him. “Here.” He took the sack from the little boy and put it on top of the pile on the cart. Then he lifted both girls and set them on the sack. He picked up the handles of the cart. It was heavy, but rolled easily.

The girls stared at him. The youngest child put her finger in her mouth. The elder looked pleadingly at her mother. The woman gave Balinor a smile so full of gratitude he winced inwardly at how he was using them as cover to sneak out of the city.

“As long as it’s no trouble.” Her lower lip trembled slightly.

He smiled again. “None at all.”

She took the boy’s hand and they set off along the dusty, worn track that headed east. By the time they reached a path that led off the main track and the woman indicated that her hut lay in that direction, there were few others left on the road. The sun had already reached the treetops west of them.

Balinor delivered the cart to the woman’s yard, declined her grateful offer to share in their meal knowing how little there would be to spare, and headed through the woods in the direction of Braithcliffe.

It was difficult walking through the unfamiliar forest as the light faded quickly, not knowing where the bogs were, but he was glad for his caution in avoiding the roadways when he neared the village. A group of mounted men in red cloaks with a golden dragon logo road the well-used path toward Camelot.

Balinor’s heart stuttered in his chest as he ducked out of their sight and he heaved a sigh of relief when the hoofbeats faded into the distance. Luckily they had searched Ragnar’s home before his arrival, unless this was a chance patrol passing this way. In either case, they would not be back here looking for him for at least a day which was time enough to get Ragnar's wife and child away. Hunith would take them in, he knew. Her generous heart was one of the things he loved about her. He had never seen her turn anyone away no matter how little she had.

With a last glance down the path where the Camelot knights had disappeared, Balinor stepped toward the shack his fellow dragonlord had called home. The dirt paths winding among the collection of huts were deserted; no one dared to be seen when a Camelot patrol was near. A few homes had gone so far as to douse their hearthfire for fear of attracting the attention of Uther’s soldiers.

Ragnar’s hut, however, was lit from within by wavering flames and the cloth which sheltered the doorway twitched as heat escaped the dwelling. Balinor reached to lift aside the makeshift doorway and was surprised to find his hand shaking. He glanced over his shoulder, but the hoofbeats of the knights’ horses had disappeared into the distance and no other person was yet stirring from any hiding place. Even the dogs were silent.

He gripped the cloth and slipped through, calling softly so Melisandre would know he was a friend. The sound died in his throat at the sight of the petite woman lying on the dirt floor, arms clasped around her baby and eyes open and staring.

The soldiers had not been looking for him. But he refused to believe what he saw. There was only one conceivable reason Ragnar would have betrayed his kin and that was to save the lives of his family so how could it be that his infant son’s swaddling would be awash with blood? Not even the shallowest breath stirred the small body or the woman’s chest. And the pool below Melisandre was far too much blood for one baby boy; she must have refused to put him down when the soldiers came to execute the infant dragonlord. The sword thrust had impaled her with him and she had fallen with her son still in her arms. How was it possible that anyone – even a king, even a grieving king – could have committed a betrayal like that?

The smell of blood-soaked cloth hit the back of Balinor’s throat and he gagged. Then he dropped to his knees and emptied the meagre contents of his stomach onto the dirt. He spat out the bile burning the inside of his mouth and wiped his sleeve across his face. Then he slowly turned his head toward the bodies. Balinor covered his eyes with shaking hands but the sight of the murdered family of his kin remained.

A blade of pure terror sliced through his chest. What of the other children? Ceynard’s son, Timion, had been executed with him and Timion was not wed but Bors and Malacant both had sons who had not yet seen seven winters. For the first time, Balinor was glad Hunith had not conceived. She had no magic; she would be of no consequence to Uther’s campaign of vengeance. He himself had been an only child and both his parents were dead. Thank the gods they had not lived to see this Great Purge.

Balinor pushed himself to his feet, keeping his eyes averted from the bodies and one sleeve across his nose to dampen the smell. He had to reach Bors’s home before the soldiers. It would take all night, all day, the next night, and the next day to walk that far.

He made quick work of the food stores in the hut, throwing all he could carry onto a blanket that marked the family’s bed: hard bread, a few dried apples, a container of flour. Then he took an extra cloak which was large enough to have been Ragnar’s and bound everything up in the bedroll.

With his hand on the cloth that covered the door, he glanced back one time to fix the picture in his mind though he knew already it had been written in blood across his memory. Then he stepped outside and headed determinedly in the direction of the village Bors had called home.


	3. Chapter 3

Hunith grabbed the chicken by its legs and hoisted it. It protested noisily and flapped its wings but did not peck at her as she sent it on its way with the others and began gathering the eggs. A village girl held a basket carefully as they brushed grass and bits of mud from the warm, brown globes and piled them in. Close by, a few other women were digging potatoes from the village garden.

Not far away, several geese honked. Hunith glanced up at the treeline to the west of the cleared field around the village, then blinked and stared.

A lone man wearing a dark cloak that obscured his face was walking, or rather stumbling, in the direction of the village. The rising sun illuminated him with a tinge of red and a long shadow followed him, stretching back to the forest.

Refugees travelled in groups, and Essetir’s soldiers were turning them all back. If this one man had made it all the way to the border alone and then gotten through the patrol he must have exceptional skill. Or determination.

Hunith was still for a moment, then she ran toward him. Worry for his weary appearance was drowned by her joy at seeing him again after so many weeks. She knew the smile she wore was near to splitting her cheeks as the fear which had sat like a heavy lump in chest dissolved. Her worry that she would not see him again had been only her own foolishness after all.

The smile froze when he lifted his head to meet her eyes. She stopped an arm’s length away, taking in the beard and hair that were longer than he usually wore them and the dullness in his blue eyes.

He stared at her, his lips compressed and a glimmer of moisture in his eyes. He spoke no word of greeting. When his mouth opened, his voice was hoarse. “They’re all dead.”

_Who?_ she thought. _All?_

Then his tears spilled over and she took the last step to wrap him in her arms. He held her tightly and cried so that his whole body shook against hers and she could feel dampness through the woolen shoulder of her dress. It was only after what must have been many minutes that a hand on her shoulder alerted her to the whispers and shufflings of other villagers.

Eleynora squeezed her shoulder and mouthed a silent question.

Hunith shook her head in response. Without letting go of Balinor, she guided him through the collection of curious and sympathetic faces and into her own hut. She pushed him down onto the single bench and fetched a wooden cup of water from a bucket in the corner. He drank it all, wiped a sleeve across his mouth, then scrubbed harder to remove the last tears from his face.

She knelt beside his knees, looking up at him anxiously. “You did not negotiate the peace you sought with King Uther?”

Hatred twisted his features, so foreign to his generous nature that her breath caught in her throat.

“Uther never wanted peace. It was a trap. All he seeks is death and he has won.” Balinor dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He has won and they are all dead. Ragnar, Malacant, Dinadan, Bors, Ceynard and his son Timion.”

“How did you escape?”

“The Court Physician, his name is Gaius, he aided me. But the others were executed.”

“All of them?” Hunith’s voice quivered.

“And their children,” Balinor said, his red-rimmed eyes fixed on hers.

Her heart stuttered and then dropped to the pit of her stomach. “Children? Dead?”

“I couldn’t save them. I was too late.”

Hunith knew she was not a stupid woman but she could not make sense of his words. “How did they die? Save them from what?”

“Uther’s soldiers.” The venom in Balinor’s tone cut through the fog in her brain.

“Soldiers murdering children?” But isn’t that what the tales from Camelot had said? That soldiers were killing people, dragging them from their homes and executing those who resisted? Women, men, and children alike. “Why?”

Her voice was a whisper but Balinor shot to his feet as if he had been struck.

“This.” He pulled from his bag a necklace of rubies entwined in silver links with a flat, circular piece of metal hung like a pendant.

The metal seemed incongruously plain in the valuable necklace except for a glow around it like a heat shimmer. Hunith reached forward with a fingertip but Balinor pulled it away.

“Don’t touch it. It’s cursed. It feeds on death like a sponge.” He glared at the shard of metal. “It grows warmer with each place of death that I visit.”

Hunith snatched her hand back, her finger stinging as if it had been burned. “Why do you have it?”

“I have been entrusted with its destruction.”

Hunith cradled one hand in the other and stared at the shimmering bit of metal. It flashed silver as it caught the light before it twisted and turned dark again.

Balinor wrapped it in a piece of cloth and wound a bit of rope around as he spoke. “Gaius told me this is the dark magic that enabled the prince’s birth and took the life of Uther’s queen. It carries the power of life and death, and it has caused more death than I ever expected to see in my lifetime. Even dragons have not wreaked the destruction, hatred, and fear that spreads from Uther’s citadel like a plague.”

“Then could it create life and healing to the same degree?”

He shook his head. “I know little about its power. My magic is not so strong, and if Nimueh was involved this carries the sorcery of a high priestess, one of the Nine, far beyond what I or anyone I know could wield. Not even Malacant …”

His hands trembled and Hunith wrapped her arms around him once more. He was safely home, and she refused to feel guilty that he was alive when others were not. The guilt could wait, the mourning could wait, her chores could wait. They were together again, and she would wring what enjoyment she could from the rest of this day and the night. Tomorrow would be time enough to speak further about all he had seen. She would help him heal, try to fill the holes in his being that were the absence of his kin. In time, the emptiness behind his eyes would shrink. Tonight she would show him how much love surrounded him. He still had her.

~

Hunith’s eyes opened sleepily when the warmth of Balinor’s arms was removed. She turned her head toward his silhouette, barely visible in the bit of cloudy moonlight which penetrated the single window of her hut.

“Stay, love. Sleep.” He pressed a kiss against her cheek.

She reached out to grasp his wrist, too tired to speak.

“It’s all right. I’m only going for a walk. I need a moment alone, but I promise I won’t be long.”

She heard the rustle of clothing as he dressed but her eyes were closed again before he left.

Shouting shook her awake next. She blinked, wondering how long it had been since Balinor went out. The moonlight was gone. Crashes and bangs that could only be the meagre furnishings of huts being thrown around mingled with children’s screams and a woman crying. A dog growled and then whimpered in pain.

Then the crashes and bangs were inside her own hut and a strange man with a helmet that covered his head and nose yelled at her. She blinked in response, unable to comprehend what he said. He grabbed her arm and dragged her from her blankets. Her knee landed on something hard and sharp only partly cushioned by a bit of cloth with rope wrapped around. She swallowed a cry of pain when she realized it was the bundle that hid the necklace and kicked it into the pile of blankets.

Then she was yanked to her feet and the cold night air hit her bare skin. Her mind began spinning with the knowledge that a soldier was inside her hut and she was entirely naked. She yanked her arm free and grabbed a tunic to throw over her head.

He grunted. It was too dark to see anything except the metal covering his face which reflected the greyish light from the window. His thick, gauntleted hand groped around and clamped against her bare upper arm. He pulled her out the door into the pre-dawn to join the other villagers who had been roused from their beds and gathered into a shivering group in the middle of the common area. Thank the gods it seemed no one had been killed.

A knight without helmet or faceguard appeared to have command of the others. Colours were unrecognizable in the dimness but there was no mistaking the dragon crest on his cloak. For a moment terror squeezed her chest so tightly she could not draw breath. Uther’s knights had crossed the border, armed. It was an act of war.

Then a little boy whimpered and one of the soldiers backhanded him across the face. Blood streamed from his nose as he stared up from where he had been knocked to the ground.

“How dare you!” Hunith shook off her guard and shoved the soldier away from the little boy.

He raised his metal-clad hand again but stopped mid-swing at a shouted command from the cloaked knight.

“Where is Balinor?” the knight who appeared to be in charge asked the villagers.

A few shook their heads, but most simply turned their faces away.

“Where?” he shouted.

“We’ve never heard the name,” one woman answered, her arms wrapped around her younger sister whose face was hidden in the folds of her nightdress. “We don’t know.”

Two others echoed her. “We don’t know anyone by that name.”

Edric Warner frowned, his thin lips stretched tight beneath a grey and black beard as he wrapped one arm around his son.

The lead knight gestured and Hunith was dragged toward him and pushed to the dirt at his feet.

“Do you know Balinor?”

Hunith glared up at him. “There is no one by that name here.”

“Odd. Our sources say the coward was headed here.”

Hunith wanted to slap the arrogant smirk off the knight’s face. Balinor was brave and generous and caring and more noble than this butcher who led a raid on an unarmed village of farmers. Her hand curled into a ball but she was hauled to her feet and thrust back into the huddled group of villagers.

The soldiers ransacked the huts, throwing together a meal for themselves and laughing at the hungry stares of their prisoners. They broke up a few barrels to add to the stack of wood that had been piled up and built themselves a campfire in the open area between the huts. Little of the warmth from the hard-earned stock of firewood reached the group which was now shivering in their nightclothes as they hugged themselves and huddled close.

Hunith’s sleeveless, loose-fitting tunic did little to keep her warm even as the sun broke over the horizon and began to heat the air. She rubbed her bare arms, then winced as her hand brushed against a great purple mark the shape of the soldier’s large hand.

A few of the children whimpered but the soldiers refused to allow any of them out of sight. The villagers were allowed to go no further than the outer wall of the hut nearest them, forced to do their business in full sight of the soldiers who did not have the decency to look away to create any illusion of privacy.

The sun was overhead when the lead knight with his red cape called his compatriots for a whispered conference. Most of Hunith’s fellow villagers were sitting now, no longer shivering with cold, but many held sobbing children, trying to calm their fears and distract them from their hunger. Eleynora’s hand rested against her rounded belly.

The conference ended and the lead knight came to stand in front of them. He regarded the villagers closely, his eyes moving from one to another. Hunith raised her chin and stared back.

The man’s red cape lifted in the breeze and the gold dragon twisted and glittered in the noon sun. “You know that magic-users care only about themselves, don’t you? We have seen time and again how they flee and leave their families and friends behind.”

Hunith bit her lower lip.

The man’s eyes met those of Edric Warner, then flicked to the young man at his side whose features and wild brown curls resembled his father’s. “If Balinor were here, you would want to protect your family, I’m sure, by having us remove the dragonlord from your midst.”

Warner’s arm tightened around his son, his lips pressed tightly together.

“We’ve wasted enough time here.” The knight spun and addressed his soldiers. “Spread out. Follow every trail.”

~

Balinor waited until darkness engulfed the village once more. He could hear the Camelot soldiers still stomping through the wooded hills, their heavy boots and metal weapons noisier than the peasants who had tiredly undertaken chores that could not be put off. The village wood supply had to be replenished and several boys had made trips to and from the woods gathering as many dry branches as possible while the men felled trees. Balinor could see Hunith and the other women taking stock of what was left of their food stores while cleaning up what the soldiers had smashed or tossed aside.

He waited until the last two village men headed back toward the huts and then followed the two figures quietly. The taller turned and looked at him. He recognized Edric Warner as the sun’s last rays cleared the treetop behind his shoulder and illuminated the man’s face, though he was not certain if Warner was able to recognize him with his face in shadow. Balinor nodded and continued toward the village.

When he reached Hunith’s hut, he found her kneeling on the ground, eyes fixed on the little hearth in the middle of her dwelling. Several pots had been upended and a few were now missing; no doubt they had been broken beyond repair. A small gasp escaped her as she leapt to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

“I can’t stay long,” he said, hugging her closely. “I need to get the necklace and then I’ll disappear for a while.”

Her arms tightened but she did not speak.

“I’ll come back when the soldiers have gone and I know they won’t return, I promise.”

He felt her nod without lifting her head from his shoulder.

“I will try to get word to the Court Physician in Camelot so he knows my whereabouts. I believe I can trust him. He is wise although I fear his wisdom has come from terrible experience.”

For a moment Balinor continued to hold her, memorizing the feel of her arms around him and the smell of her hair. Then he leaned back and raised her chin with one of his hands. “I’ll think about you every day until I see you again.”

Her eyes, already glistening, began to tear before she stretched up and kissed him.

Balinor squeezed his own eyes shut and concentrated on the feel of her lips on his. Then he reluctantly stepped back and looked around for the necklace in its bundle.

Hunith reached a shaking hand into the blankets of their bed and silently handed him the little bundle. She must have hidden it when the soldiers came.

He took it from her and drew a breath to thank her for keeping it – and him – safe from the soldiers. Before he could reassure her or give her a last parting hug, the sound of heavy boots moving quickly reached him along with the rattle of swords and spears. His head snapped up and around.

He swept aside the curtain which protected the doorway, his breath freezing in his lungs at the sight of three helmeted soldiers heading toward the village led by Edric Warner.

Balinor glanced over his shoulder at Hunith’s stricken face, her skin bloodless beneath its tan, then he bolted out the door and in the opposite direction to the soldiers, keeping the huts between him and them for as long as he could. When he neared the trees on the far side of the cleared area around the village, he heard shouts and ran faster through the darkness.

He ran as hard and fast as possible, thankful he was familiar with the forest around him and the caves above. Even so, it was darker yet where the trees cut off the faint grey light left in the western sky. He pushed on. If he could make the safety of the tunnels in the hills above, the soldiers would not find him.

His breath was coming in gasps when he reached the entrance. The light was somewhat brighter here beyond the treeline and he heard another shout. The sounds of pursuit increased. The soldiers must have rallied their fellows who had been in the area but they would not find him now. These tunnels would shelter him and he would lose his pursuers for good in the twists and turns.

~

Balinor scrubbed a hand across his bristly chin and then through his thick hair. His fingers snagged in the knotted mass and pulled out a few long, dark strands. He was becoming quite unkempt. How many days had it been since he fled Ealdor? And how many days before that, pushing his tired legs to make it to the next home of one of his kin, hoping to save even one of their sons? He could recall only one shining day when he was neither tired nor hungry: the last night he had spent in the arms of his woman.

He could not return to her, he knew. The moment he showed up, someone – if not Warner then someone else driven by fear – would reveal his presence or even mistakenly say his name in the hearing of the wrong listener. His only hope for return would be once Uther was gone and that golden-haired child that Gaius had carried on his shoulders took his father’s place. Gods willing, the boy would be a more tolerant ruler than his deranged father.

Kneeling on the rough stones at the edge of the wide, shining blue lake, Balinor ripped open the bit of rope and unwrapped the necklace in his hands. Its silver links shimmered like the ripples on the water and its rubies shone as though tiny red suns were embedded in them. The plain circle of metal lay cold and dark on his palm.

His other hand shook slightly as he took the neat Y he had whittled from a properly sized branch and strung a bit of thong between its two forks. Then he crumpled the necklace and put it in the slingshot, stretching it back as far as he could and then a little farther before letting it fly. It flashed in the sunshine as it arced high above the glittering water before finally curving down to make a faint splash before it disappeared. The tiny circle of waves faded before they reached the shore by his feet.

Then he turned his back on the sparkling water and headed back in the direction of his dark cave.

~

Hunith’s hand trembled and a sharp spike on the carding board pierced her finger. A few drops of red stained the grey fleece. She quickly wrapped a corner of her tunic around the cut and pressed.

Eleynora saw the accident and reached out to take the carding board and set it aside before she squeezed Hunith’s clasped hands in hers. “It will be all right in the end, you’ll see. Balinor –”

“Don’t say the name,” Hunith snapped, then immediately regretted her sharp tone.

Her emotions had been getting the better of her the past few months. At times she woke up crying or simply broke down at the simplest of mishaps and at other times she found herself humming songs she barely remembered her mother singing to her in the cradle.

Eleynora had assured her the crazy moods would pass soon, at about the time that she began waking up several times each night to relieve herself, but they both knew Hunith’s strain was more than the erratic disposition of a woman with child. It would be many months, more likely years, before she saw Balinor again. She was glad she did not know where he was; if anyone questioned her they would learn nothing.

The other woman patted Hunith’s hand and leaned back to collect another handful of wool. She grunted as she straightened up again, one hand rubbing her swollen belly. “She’s kicking again.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

Eleynora raised one dark brow. “It’s my fourth time and I was right with the last three. Trust me, I know.” She glanced at Hunith’s rounded midsection. “That one’s a boy.”

Hunith eased off the pressure on her cut and ran her fingers across her stomach. Of course it was a boy, a dragonlord’s first child was nearly always a boy. All those years they had prayed and hoped for a child and now that she was alone, her man a hunted fugitive, now they were granted their wish.

Was it a coincidence that she had finally conceived on the night that _thing_ – that cursed necklace – had been in her hut? She hoped it was mere chance. The kingdom had paid a high price when Camelot’s king and queen were granted their wish; what would destiny demand from her or her child to balance out all the death? No child should have to shoulder that weight, let alone before he even took his first breath.

Even if this babe was simply the result of chance and nature, she knew there was real risk in raising this child if he inherited his father’s gifts. For a few moments, when she first suspected, she had considered asking the old women how to end the pregnancy. But she could not regret it or deliberately end it. Along with her anxiety was true joy in having this reminder of Balinor: a boy with his eyes and his generous heart. She could not part with this last gift from her man. This babe would be a blessing to her, and she would love him and provide for him. Whatever he needed, and wherever she had to find it, she would provide for him. And hopefully, he would see the end of this madness that had left him fatherless and bereft of kin.

Hunith brushed her fingers across the slight bulge once more. She hoped this child, born out of war, would know peace in the end.


End file.
